Cindy on August 24th, 2009
I believe that modern Americans are feeling less and less satisfied even as their freedom of choice expands.” — Barry Schwartz
When I was a gangly, insecure kid in junior high, I kept a green eye on others who were smarter, cooler, prettier, and more athletic than I was. Like most preteens, I measured my worth against the status of my peers. And like most kids, I often found myself lacking, no matter how much encouragement I earned from my parents and teachers.
As I matured, I grew thicker skin and self-respect, and even began to trust my own insight. I understood, as my folks often reminded me, that I’d always encounter people who were faring better or worse than I was. I also caught on to the fact that conformity was a dead-end street and not a path to personal fulfillment.
Regardless, I was boggled by the options open to me after I earned my liberal arts degree. I was told that the world was my oyster, and if I really wanted to I could pursue journalism, art, advertising, marriage, motherhood, travel, teaching, publishing, public relations, law, or writing for non-profit organizations. Or maybe several of those things at the same time. On a good day, I labeled myself a Renaissance woman. Most of the time, though, I felt like a dilettante. A dabbler.
After a five-year stint in reference book publishing, I finally settled on marriage, motherhood, and freelance writing, all of which I found truly satisfying. Still, I didn’t stop looking outside myself for answers.
All too often, I questioned — or doubted — my abilities and choices. Did I really have anything new or interesting to say? Was my writing worth publication? If there were so many books, essays, and articles in print, well, why would anyone bother to read anything of mine? (Even now, as I edit this blog entry, I can’t help but think of all the other good blogs and worthy Web sites competing for attention.) Thankfully, I’ve ignored the voices of my inner critics and forged ahead.
All of this came tumbling back when I started reading Barry Schwartz’s The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less, which Business Week voted a “Top Ten Book of the Year.” Thanks to a tip from another blogger, I rediscovered this fascinating book after overlooking it (too many books to choose from!) when it first hit the bookstores. And I’m glad I did.
The Paradox of Choice would be an excellent gift for any new graduate who’s wrestling with “what to be” when they grow up, as well as for anyone who’s chronically overwhelmed by modern culture and its smorgasbord of “options” — from electronic gadgets to graduate schools.
As Schwartz points out, our abundance of “choice” comes at a great price. “We get what we say we want, only to discover that what we want doesn’t satisfy us to the degree that we expect,” he writes. “We are surrounded by modern, time-saving devices, but we never seem to have enough time. We are free to be the authors of our own lives, but we don’t know exactly what kind of lives we want to ‘write.’”
Covering everything from the perils of conspicuous consumption to the virtual emptiness of extreme competition, this book will get you thinking about the choices you make. It might even help you find the courage to simplify your life and find more satisfaction in having just enough. — Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on March 12th, 2009
The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach — waiting for a gift from the sea. — Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Four miles long and ½ mile wide, the narrow island of Captiva is where Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote the beloved inspirational classic, Gift from the Sea. Last spring, I finally made my pilgrimage to Captiva. Returning home with the requisite souvinir shells, I wrote a reflective essay on how Lindbergh’s words continue to inspire me in midlife. The essay is reprinted in this week’s Midpoint column in The Oakland Press. I’d love to hear from other women whose lives were validated or changed by the timeless advice in this book. And if you haven’t read it yet, treat yourself to a copy. I promise you won’t be disappointed. –CL
*Previous Midpoint columns are archived with links to The Oakland Press (look under CATEGORIES in the “Browse” panel at right). These columns focus on issues of special interest to women between ages 40 and 65.
Cindy on March 1st, 2009
“I know it is wet
And the sun is not sunny.
But we can have
Lots of good fun that is funny!”
–Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat
It was the late 1950s, and he put the fun back in reading when he booted Dick and Jane out of my neighborhood. To me, he was (and still is) the wizard of words, the “gandorious” great-uncle of terrific tongue-twisters.
To grown-ups who’ve since become parents, he’s a beloved household icon. His rhymes have thrilled more young bookworms than even he could have imagined. And nobody could imagine things quite like Theodore Seuss Geisel, otherwise known as Dr. Seuss.
His influence is so awesome, in fact, that March 2 — Geisel’s birthday — is designated “Cat in the Hat Day.” Endorsing the holiday, the National Education Association suggests we celebrate by reading to a child tomorrow evening.
Starting in 1937, when he wrote and illustrated his first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, Geisel found his niche churning out tales of the weird and the whimsical, populating them with squawking fish and top-hatted cats. Even today, few other children’s authors can tickle a four-year-old funny bone as swiftly as Dr. Seuss. Which is why it’s hard to believe that this creator of nerkles and nerds had no kids of his own. Yet he penned 47 children’s books — and sold more than 100 million copies in more than a dozen languages.
Geisel was born in 1904 in Springfield, Massachusetts. His father was a brewer who ran a zoo during Prohibition — a zoo that undoubtedly provided endless fodder for young Geisel’s fantasies. (Geisel, by the way, coined the term “nerd” in If I Ran the Zoo.) In 1925 he graduated from Dartmouth, where he’d drawn cartoons for a humor magazine. While studying literature at Oxford in England, he met Helen Palmer, an American literature student who encouraged him to pursue an art career. For a while he drifted in Paris.
In 1927 he came back to the states to marry Helen Palmer. Though he had planned to write novels, the Depression temporarily derailed his art career, and he resumed writing gags for humor magazines. Though his first attempts to publish had been difficult, by the late 1950s “Dr. Seuss” was producing nearly two children’s books a year. Delighting young baby boomers and their parents, Horton Hears a Who was published in 1954, followed by How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Cat in the Hat in 1957.
After Helen Palmer’s death in 1967, Geisel married Audrey Dimond and acquired two stepdaughters. He died in 1991 at eighty-seven, with his family at his bedside.
“His contribution was making reading fun again,” says Laurie Harris, a Pleasant Ridge parent and publisher of Biography for Beginners. “The rhythm and warmth of his words stay in a child’s head forever.”
“I like nonsense,” Geisel once said. “It wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living; it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope.” But as every fan discovers, Geisel’s “nonsense” isn’t just for kids. His stories are laced with sophisticated messages and illuminating parables, which is why they’re so much fun to read aloud â with or without children.
The Butter Battle Book, for example, tackles the perils of the atomic age. Meanwhile, the uproarious Cat in the Hat gets into big trouble, yet somehow manages to redeem himself and straighten out his messes. Whether we’re nine or seventy-nine, after all, there are many horrific hills to climb and, yes, incredible kooks to reckon with. — Cindy La Ferle
–This essay was first published March 1, 1998 in The Christian Science Monitor, and is included in Writing Home.–
Cindy on February 26th, 2009
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? — Satchel Paige
Whether we use Nice ‘n Easy to hide our graying temples or refuse to show our drivers’ licenses, most of us secretly hope to appear younger than we are. But why is it so hard for smart women to age honestly? Last month, I polled several of my middle-aged female friends and colleagues, asking if they lie about their age. Since I promised not to use their real names, the answers that came back to me were candid â and as eye-opening as Olay’s best anti-wrinkle serum. Read more in this week’s MIDPOINT column in The Oakland Press.
